Missing That Touch
by Kisuru-chan
Summary: Victor always touches Yuuri. Yuuri wants a touch of his own.


**A/N:** Written as a Fandom Stocking 2016 gift for Wegnetic.

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Recently, Victor relaxation on being touchy-feely with Yuuri had taken its toll. And technically, though Yuuri's squeamishness had landed him in this position, Yuuri truly could say he had gotten so used to Victor touching him that Victor _not_ touching him bordered on a strange, confusing mental battle.

It had been bliss. Every nerve in Yuuri's body had fired at once. Victor just didn't understand. Yuuri thought Victor's skin was magical like brushing a cloud, those sultry blue eyes mesmerizing.

Cutting back may have been a torture method.

Victor hadn't really said anything. He would just give him those looks of understanding. After all, he was a guest with Yuuri's family—he still hadn't quite found his feet coaching yet. Stepping on toes was not an important don't-do. He'd arrived a few weeks ago.

So Victor did what anyone would do.

It shouldn't have been what Victor did. Victor being brash and himself would have been preferred, but Yuuri could still feel thrill at his perceptiveness.

But when he had realized Yuuri's discomfort, he had gently retreated a little and stayed a little bit more reserved. He substituted chin cupping for sitting next to Yuuri's side and gracing him with a smile.

Yuuri had never quite… known anything like this. He had thought Victor touching him was an overload of his senses the first time he had seen him naked in the bath and Victor touching him in the yukata. Now, that had fried his brain cells, but whatever Yuuri had salvaged out of it begged for that hot feeling over.

Yuuri had gotten a taste of that sweet attention. He always felt those warm, gentle hands ask for nothing besides his acceptance for Victor's fierce loyalty and love."

Yuuri needed more of it. More of… that. Whatever that was, he wanted it, even if it was one touch.

Yuuri never thought he would complain about Victor _not_ touching him. At first, Victor retaining a politely respectful behavior was common formality. Even if the fluttering butterflies in Yuuri's chest yearned for that touch, Victor seemed like a corporeal ghost that had never come to Japan. Victor, in his mind, lived in his assortment of Victor-only pin-up pictures and merchandise that no eye but his should see hidden away in his private stash.

But… no, Victor was here in the flesh and blood. And Yuuri just couldn't ignore that he was _here._

And Victor's hands had been on him. Multiple times.

Victor's skin was steamier than the bath house's water. It would be more pleasant and soothing than the minerals and lavishness of the water's caress, and Yuuri _craved_ that despite the impulse to shy away from it. Avoiding Victor was impossible.

Yuuri couldn't help contain those thoughts even as he watched Victor that afternoon. They hadn't done too much except goof around sightseeing like Victor insisted on whenever a free moment opened itself to Victor's knowledge and he embraced it like a bee to honey. He pranced from one place to the next and loved to see the buildings, museums, and statues.

Whenever Victor touched something new that he seemed to cherish and enjoy, Yuuri could feel it. The awkward mixture of _I'm over here_ and _shouldn't there be something new between us?_ But none of those ideas liked to form coherently enough.

The sunlight shown low and orange in the sky as they returned back to home—was "home" a place that Victor could touch as both of theirs, too?—and Yuuri could smell the delicious scent of dinner. He imagined the delight Victor would have at that as he ate dinner the feeling of a full stomach and company.

Victor bent down on one knee and rubbed Makkachin's fur affectionately. Makkachin eagerly licked his hand, and he continued to stay completely still as Victor scratched him behind the ears.

Yuuri's stomach did a weird flip-flop. Makkachin glanced at him from behind, and he didn't know what to think. He just knew he wanted to be Makkachin if it meant that he could be petted like that too…

Yuuri's cheeks heated up and squashed whatever that feeling was right back down. It didn't work.

Okay, he had to do this now or he'd chicken out.

"Victor…?" Yuuri asked, tentative. Prompting question had become second nature to him.

Being jealousy of Makkachin was ridiculous. He a dog faithful dog just like his own dog had been. Makkachin had been a loyal companion at Victor's side for far longer than Yuuri had been in his life.

Yuuri still couldn't help that he wanted a touch, too.

And no matter how he tried to erase that thought, he only stared at Victor's face. He wanted to reciprocate everything he had ever done to him.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Victor asked. He turned to him with that ever-so-patience smile and waited.

Yuuri's hands flailed a bit. He actually, genuinely, had no appropriate words. How did one possibly explain that he wanted to just… touch… and explore based on that alone? It wasn't even a concrete thought, just abstract and relying on pure instinct.

Victor never asked for confirmation. He just did and he was Victor. Victor could get away with robbing a safe at a bank with his charms and no one would question whether that was the right decision. But Yuuri was different, and he had to use baby steps to bring himself back up to speed—and touching was just as intimate as gliding over the ice and feeling the rhythm of his skates vibrate in his blood.

Yuuri gulped. Now or never, he supposed…

Yuuri reached out. He hand wavered. He meant for it to go to Victor's chin, or maybe if he dared his cheek, but he aimed too high. His hand landed on the crown of his hand and clenched in his hair.

"You, um…" Yuuri froze, eyes wide. His words felt like floodwater trying to squeeze through the tiniest chinks in a dam, ready to bolt forward. "You're a… a good coach… and I wanted to tell you… um…"

Yuuri forgot how to breathe. Did he breathe through his nose or his mouth? No, he may hyperventilate… both ways. Now, that wouldn't be good. He could only feel the soft, silken strands of silvery hair under his fingertips. A life of its own seemed to take shape under his fingers and the tension welled up in his throat—Yuuri's hand locked and tangled in the hair.

Petrified, Yuuri heart squeezed. He hurriedly shut his eyes, hoping he could disappear. He did not want to gaze into Victor's face right now—what would he even say about going this far? It wasn't anything worse than Victor cupping his cheeks in the bath, or hugging him at weird times, or… or…

Well… True, Victor touched his skin all the time.

Maybe he wasn't so out of the loop after all. Hair wasn't as bad as skin, was it? But it felt like he had crossed a boundary here. Victor's _beautiful_ hair.

Yuuri opened his eyes a smidge to get a glimpse.

Directly across from him, Victor's eyes sparkled like gemstones reflecting sunlight. He looked elated, awestruck. He grabbed Yuuri's arm and held it in place, insistent that he didn't move it away.

"Wow, Yuuri gave me my first head pat!" Victor gleefully said, a tone dripping with triumph and that innocent oh-so-happy-wonder that accompanied everything that Victor learned about Japanese culture. "I've heard about petting someone's head as special, but I didn't think Yuuri would ever give me a head pat so suddenly. It's such high praise!"

An… What did mean… Yuuri had done _what_?

Makkachin barked and wagged his tail at Victor's side. He was normally a quiet, well-trained dog that didn't bark often, but he agreed this was progress. After all, he could relate; being pet was the best.

"It's not a… I mean…" Yuuri babbled. He, oddly, couldn't feel his own feet and felt lightheaded.

Yuuri yanked his hand back out in a whirlwind of embarrassment. Victor merrily laughed, and rubbed his head where Yuuri had touched him, grinning.

Yuuri could barely believe he had just done that. He had always admired Victor's velvety hair, and he had always stared at it for hours. Even into the night he had admired the way the moonlight crossed his room and fell on the highlights of Victor's hair. But to thread his fingers through it was another almighty beast that definitely surpassed a camera's capture, or the moonlight's play on a faded picture.

Victor was too easy to please sometimes…

Yuuri's hand tingled, and clasped his palms together to keep the warmth and feeling of Victor in them.

The genuine article was much more satisfying than seeing it under the spotlights in an ice skating article.

"Yuuri," Victor said. All calmness. "Look at me."

Yuuri obeyed. It was another instinct he had developed; the automatic reflex that responded to Victor's voice, as if he had him by puppet strings. But it wasn't control. It was the urge to do something that would and form physical connection.

"What were you really trying to do?" Victor's head titled curiously, lips pursed and eyes half-lidded. Because he didn't know and wanted to know.

Yuuri blinked, caught off-guard for a moment. Then, that little impulse to _touch_ seemed to compel his entire being because he followed through on it this time. He repeated his actions this time, and even after an eternity of reaching out, Yuuri's hand landed on the svelte, blemishless skin, perfect and cool. 

Yuuri smiled, and Victor followed suit. Yuuri didn't really have words ready on his tongue to speak, but he didn't have to, because his craving for touching Victor had been satisfied and would continue to be.


End file.
